Impala Conversations
by GirlDrinkDrunk
Summary: Six short-ish conversations between Sam and Dean in the beloved Impala


**1. **

Sam wakes, sitting side-on in the Impala, with his left leg bent and resting on the seat, and his head against the leather. He lifts his head and stretches his arms in front of him, yawning.

"Morning, princess."

Sam gives Dean a slightly amused look. "Oh, so we're using nicknames now, are we? Well, I'll have to think of one for you now…pretty boy."

Dean scoffs. "I'm not pretty, I'm hot."

Sam chuckles. "And modest."

"False modesty is stupid. Admit it, the Winchesters are blessed with good genes."

"Whatever."

"Come on, Sammy, at least admit it to yourself: you think you're good-looking."

Sam doesn't respond.

"Yeah, you think so. And you're right."

**2. **

"Dean!"

Dean's head snaps around to Sam's voice. "What?"

"I called your name three times. What were you thinking about?"

"Oh," he says, and then smiles. "Just…things."

"What kinds of things?"

Dean's smile turns into a smirk. "Naughty things."

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Be more specific."

"Well, I was thinking of a way we could put a couple of our ties to good use."

Sam sighs. "Do I need to beat it out of you?" He says, losing a little patience.

Smirk still firmly in place, Dean elaborates. "I was picturing you, on the bed, naked, with your wrists tied to the headboard with a couple of ties." At Sam's slightly skittish look, Dean hastily adds, "Not too tight, and something you could get out of if you started freaking out, but I think you'd like it."

"You think so?" Sam asks, skeptically.

"Yeah."

"Have you ever been tied up?"

"Only once." Dean smiles, remembering. "Come on, Sammy, all you gotta do is trust me. If you try it and don't like it, I promise I'll untie you. We could even have a safe word, if you want."

Sam gnaws on his bottom lip. "Let me think about it."

"Good enough."

Fifteen seconds later: "I've thought about it, and I trust you, so…okay."

Dean smiles and slides over to Sam. "Thanks, Sammy," he says, and nibbles on Sam's ear lobe.

"Uh, driving here."

"I noticed." Looking out at the flat, straight, and deserted stretch of road in front of them, Dean then turns back to Sam. "This time I'm giving you a warning." Warning delivered, Dean leans in again and licks around the shell of Sam's ear. Feeling and hearing Sam's deep breath, he smiles, and moves down to kiss along Sam's jaw line, under his ear.

"Dean…you're not playing fair."

"Then pull over."

Needless to say, there are now two thick, black skid marks along that section of road.

**3. **

"You can't. And it's dad's fault."

"Yeah, it _is_ dad's fault I'm not a needy, whiny, new-age wimp; and I'm glad."

"It's not wimpy to express your feelings, Dean."

"Yeah, it kinda is."

Sam shrugs. "Fine. I still think it takes balls to show people how you feel. You live by the motto 'real men don't cry.' That's crap. _Only_ real men cry. Dad pushed that marine code on you. It doesn't matter, though, you just don't have it in you." Sam's pretty sure Dean will take the bait. Well, hopeful, at least.

"I don't have it in me to cry? Have you lived with me for the last year?" Dean asks sarcastically. "And, with the feelings stuff…I could do it if I wanted to," he says, a little defensively.

Sam turns in the seat. "Prove it," he challenges.

"What, now?" Dean asks, looking across to Sam. He should've seen that coming. _Stupid_.

"Yeah, say something to change my mind." Sam lightly bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling; that wouldn't help the situation.

Dean is quiet for about twenty seconds.

"Yeah, didn't think so," Sam says, taking Dean's silence for defeat.

Before Dean can talk himself out of it, he blurts out, "You know how I say that if I had a normal life, I'd blow my brains out? Well, sometimes I think about it. What it'd be like to have a normal life; no hunting." He pauses for a few seconds, but it's too late to shut up now, so he continues, now speaking slower. "Sometimes, after a bad hunt, it sounds a little more appealing. Remember when we drank that African dream root, and you saw Lisa in my head? _That _kind of normal." He goes silent again, his concentration focused on the blacktop ahead. He doesn't want to see Sam's reaction.

Sam stares at Dean, speechless. Finding his voice, he dares to venture further. "Like wife-and-kids normal?"

Dean laughs, softly and self-consciously. "I dunno." Dean trails off, resisting the urge to squirm in the seat.

Sam answers Dean's thought, rather than his words. "You would've made a good dad, Dean."

They both make eye contact for a moment. Dean gives him a doubtful look, which then turns thoughtful. Focusing back on the road, he says, "You think?"

"Yeah. Remember that kid, Lucas?"

"Yeah, and his cute mom. He was a good kid."

"Well, you're the one who got through to him. Not to mention the fact that you were a second dad to me."

Dean smiles. "You know, come to think of it, I did give some fatherly advice to Ben."

"What did you tell him?"

Dean's smile grows wider. "I told him to stand up to bullies, and then taught him how to knee someone in the jewels. He executed it perfectly, too."

Sam can't help but laugh.

**4.**

Dean groans softly in his sleep as he shifts positions in the passenger seat, his head turning to rest on the sticky, warm leather.

Sam looks over and sees Dean's deep frown, and the grimace that follows. From what he can see of Dean's bandages, the bleeding seems to have stopped. When Sam was patching him up, he judged that the cut in the side of Dean's neck wouldn't need stitches, just a couple of butterfly bandages. The stab wounds to Dean's thigh and side, however, _did_ need stitches, and he got them, courtesy of Sam. While Sam was no novice, he'd never had to give more than six or seven stitches before. He counted every stitch he gave Dean: twenty-eight. Luckily, they've got a good supply of pain meds; although, taking them with the vast quantity of alcohol that Dean consumed was questionable. But Dean was in pain, and he was the one who made the decision in the end. In contrast, Sam couldn't do anything to his own beaten and bloodied face and knuckles, other than wash the blood off. And his dislocated finger was popped back in, courtesy of Dean, right after the fight.

He looks over at his brother again, slumped in the passenger seat, with his head against the door, in a drug-induced sleep. As he pulls the car back onto the road, he mutters under his breath, "Damn you, Dean. Reckless, even for you."

"We got him, didn't we," Dean answers groggily, trying to justify his actions.

Sam's head turns sharply. "I thought you were asleep."

"So why were you talking to me?"

Sam turns his eyes back to the road. "I was talking _at_ you."

"Well, don't let me stop you. I think you were damning me. Continue."

Sam sighs. "What were you thinking? Wait, I withdraw that question; I know what you were thinking: 'I'm dead already, right?'"

Dean gingerly turns his head to look at Sam. "Sam, I'm hurt, I'm drunk, and I'm groggy. Can we save this for another time?"

"_Will_ we talk about this, or can I expect more excuses until…it's too late?"

Dean frowns. He knows Sam's hurting, too. Then, one side of Dean's mouth twitches. "Never underestimate my little brother's ability to force the issue. We'll talk, Sammy, I promise; just not until I've got my strength back. Okay?"

"Yeah."

With a look at Sam, Dean then turns his head back to face the door. "You'll be fine," he says softly a moment later.

**5. **

"Je-sus, Sam, would you drop it already."

"I will when you admit it."

Dean sighs. "Okay, I'll admit that I wanted her for a sexual reason, but it's not what you're thinking."

"You wanted to have sex with her but it isn't what I think?" Sam asks, his voice rising slightly at the end.

"No, I said I wanted her for a sexual reason. Can we drop this now?" Looking over to Sam as he asks the question, he sees a big, fat 'NO' written all over his brother's face, without him having to open his mouth. "I swear to God, Sam, it's a good thing you're my brother, and an amazing fuck, or I'd have pushed you out of this car years ago."

Sam tries, but fails, to keep a smile off his face and, when Dean looks back at him, he chuckles softly.

Dean gives in and stops fighting the smile threatening the corners of his mouth. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in defeat, knowing he can't stay mad at Sam.

"You think I'm an amazing fuck?" Sam asks, with only a touch of humour left in his voice.

Dean keeps his eyes on the road but answers. "Well…yeah. I guess you'll never let me live that down, now."

With his smile still intact, he pretends to think about it. "Hmmm, I might…in about fifteen, twenty years." Moving until he's sitting side-on on the seat, touching Dean with his leg, Sam adds, "By the way…right back at ya." He then leans in, kisses Dean's neck, and pulls back.

Dean smiles and turns his head to Sam for a couple of seconds. "Say the words, little brother."

"Only if you pull the car over."

"Oh no, if I do that, we won't be able to keep our hands to ourselves, and we're on a tight schedule."

"I promise to keep my hands to myself. Come on, just for a minute."

Dean sighs and pulls the car onto the gravely shoulder. "Remember, you promised."

"No hands," Sam says, holding them up in surrender, and then resting them on his thighs. When Dean raises his eyebrows in an 'I'm waiting' expression, Sam smiles. Leaning forward a little, Sam says the words Dean wants to hear. "You are an amazing fuck," he says slowly, punctuating every word precisely. "You are the best lover I've ever had, and will be the last lover I ever have, and I couldn't be happier with that arrangement. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Dean searches his face for any signs of teasing but, apart from a warm smile, sees none. He nods, a little sheepish at feeling even the tiniest bit insecure where Sam is concerned. Sam didn't say anything he didn't already know but – admitting it to no one but himself – it's good to hear the words. He reaches his right hand around to the back of Sam's neck and brings him close, kissing him softly. "Yeah," he responds a minute later. "You big softy," he adds with a small smile. "Can we get back on the road now?" He asks, seeing Sam's answering smile.

"Yep." Three minutes later, Sam suddenly turns to Dean. "What did you mean you wanted that woman for a sexual reason? "

Dean laughs. "Took you a while," Dean responds, back to teasing Sam.

"Well?"

"Well…I had this idea. While I was talking to her. You probably wouldn't have been up for it, but I'm pretty sure she would've been."

"Dean…"

"I was imagining you fucking her while she sucked my dick…and other similar scenarios."

Sam's mouth falls open. "A threesome?" Sam says, incredulous.

"Yeah," Dean answers, amused at Sam's predictable reaction.

"Well…" Sam starts, but stops when he doesn't know how, precisely, to respond.

"It was just a suggestion, Sam," Dean says, knowing he just surprised the hell out of him. "Do me a favour, though?" At Sam's raised eyebrows, he says, "Just think about it. Then, when you've decided, let me know whether it's something you'd be interested in, or not."

Speechless, he nods, and looks back out through the windscreen, thinking about it. He may as well; it's not like he can just forget about it now.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Got anything you want _me_ to think about?"

Sam turns to Dean. A few seconds later, he breaks out into a smile. "Well, now you mention it…"

**6.**

"Can't."

Dean turns his head to Sam, and realises that he's talking in his sleep. _C'mon little brother, keep talking; I need some incriminating evidence to blackmail you with._

Sam doesn't speak again for the next three miles. Then, "Don't…I can't…"

The emotion in Sam's voice suggests to Dean that it's not a particularly good dream. Frowning, he debates whether to wake him, but decides to wait it out, and see if it gets any worse.

"…leaving…all I have left…can't…"

Dean sighs. When Sam starts moving restlessly in the seat, Dean pulls over and gently puts a hand on Sam's arm. "Sam? Sammy, open your eyes."

Immediately, Sam stills. A few moments later, he wakes and blinks his eyes at Dean.

It takes another three seconds before he crushes Dean in a hug.

"Whoa, what's gotten into you?"

"Shut up," is Sam's reply.

_Okay_, Dean thinks, and rests his hand on Sam's upper arm.

When Sam reluctantly pulls away, he sees the question in Dean's eyes. "Bad dream. Sorry."

"Wanna share?"

"Not particularly."

"It was about me…going away, wasn't it."

Sam looks up. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you were talking in your sleep and, although you didn't say much, I put two and two together…" When Sam doesn't respond, Dean adds, "I'm not all you have left, Sam. Bobby's here. And, while it isn't exactly the same as having your awesome big brother, he's family."

"Yeah," Sam says softly. "I need a drink."

Dean scoffs. "Yeah. Me too."


End file.
